


Seven Levels

by sam42



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Gen, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25391653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sam42/pseuds/sam42
Summary: Paul has a reefer revelation. No one else is on his level.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	Seven Levels

“I don’t feel anything. Are you sure this reefer is still good?”

Brian lay back on the bed, his legs dangling off the side. His view of George was upside-down, causing George’s slowly raised (from his point of view) eyebrow to sink towards the ceiling (from Brian’s point of view). Brian let out a burst of giggles, watching George’s eyebrows dance like hairy caterpillars.

“I’m sure it’s the best,” drawled George, before cracking a smile. “Bob seems satisfied with it,” he gestured across the room to a gathering on the floor where John was in deep conversation with Bob’s manager Victor and a writer in Dylan’s entourage named Al. Bob himself was smiling peacefully, listening to the conversation, or possibly in his own head.

“George, George, listen! So there are these different spheres, y’know- no not spheres...levels. Yeah! So there are different levels, y’know, corresponding to the people here,” Paul waved his hand, indicating everyone in the room, “except the guests, but we each are on a different level y’see…” George smiled, not knowing where Paul was going with this, and feeling his mind start to wander. He glanced over to the other bed when the group there erupted in laughter, Mal apparently having told an hilarious joke to Ringo and Neil.

“George! Are you listening?” Paul poked George’s side.

“Mmm, yeah,” replied George, closing his eyes. He felt at peace, like he was floating. It was a great relief from the whirlwind of touring America.

“I’m listening,” Brian said, sitting up quickly. “Oh!” His head swam slightly, whether from sitting up too fast or the reefer, he wasn’t sure.

Paul let out a frustrated noise and looked around the room, his gaze settling on a notepad on the bed table emblazoned with  _ Delmonico Hotel _ at the top. A writing implement was nowhere to be found.

“Brian, do you have a pencil?” Paul asked. “I need to write this down.” Brian patted absentmindedly at his pockets, coming up empty. He shrugged at Paul with a lopsided grin before bursting into giggles.

“Can you go find one? I need to write these levels down…” Paul trailed off, searching the bed table fruitlessly. Brian stood up slowly, meaning to make his way across the room to the bed containing Ringo, Neil, and Mal. As he stepped in their direction, he caught sight of movement in the corner of his eye. He turned to see himself staring back from the fancy mirror on the hotel wall. Giggling excitedly, he made a beeline to the mirror until he stood face-to-face with himself. Paul sighed, glancing at George, who seemed to be content in his own little world, and definitely did not have a pencil.

“Mal! Mal, come ‘ere please? I need you!” Paul called out, gesturing at Mal to come over. Mal excused himself as he climbed off the bed. “What do you need, Macca?” Paul looked intent on something.

“Do you have a pencil? I need to write this down, I understand now, these levels,” he rambled on as Mal searched. Moments later, Mal was holding a pencil, seeming to magically appear. “You’re a magician!” he laughed at Mal.

“Can you write this down?” Paul passed the notepad to Mal and immediately jumped right into it. “So, see, there are these levels. Every one of us is on a different level. Some are up here and some are down there and y’know that makes no difference whether you’re up here or down here,” Paul gestured up high and down low as Mal scribbled down his words.

“I’m one level, and John’s another level, though we’re almost on the same level y’know. Maybe he’s a little bit higher…” Paul trailed off and frowned.

“I thought which level you’re on doesn’t matter,” George said, his eyes still closed.

“Yeah yeah you’re right, so I’m on one level and John’s on another and George and Ringo and you and all the rest, etcetera, we’re each on a level and when we talk our levels meet, y’know? But all six of us, no, seven, we each are on a level. And everyone in the world is on a level, but it’s the same levels. The seven levels are complete, we make a world together, y’know?” Paul looked quite pleased with his proclamation.

George, who had opened his eyes while the man next to him rambled, laughed when he saw Mal’s confused face. “I don’t think Mal is on your level right now.”

Paul scowled and reached for the pencil and pad in Mal’s hands. “I’ll do it meself then,  _ Hazza _ ,” Paul shot George a dirty yet loving look.

“JEW! JEW!” Everyone in the room turned to look at the source of the interruption, which happened to be Brian. As he stood at the mirror he pointed to himself, proclaiming it again. “JEW!” He burst into peels of laughter.

Paul laughed and shook his head as he wrote down a single sentence.  _ Yes _ , he thought,  _ that’s perfect _ . He put the pencil and paper to the side, excited about his revelation.  _ I can write more on it tomorrow. John will understand. _

~~~~~~~

Paul groaned as he opened his eyes to the sound of the alarm.  _ Another day. Another concert. More press. More photos. _ He looked at John, stubbornly still asleep, and smiled. Despite his love of watching John sleep, they had a duty to do.

Paul shook John gently. “Come ‘ead, Johnny. Time to get up.” John groaned in response, burrowing his face into the pillow. “Eppy needs us dressed and ready in twenty minutes.”

At the sound of Eppy’s name, John sat up and grinned widely. “You sure he doesn’t need some more mirror time?”

“Mirror? Oh!” The events of last night came back to him, particularly the image of Brian with his face pressed against the mirror, mumbling  _ Jew fag Jew _ with giggles punctuating his murmurs. His thoughts wandered back to the conversation he had been having, or rather trying to have, with George and Brian and...Mal!  _ The paper! _

“Where is it?!” Paul leaped out of bed, searching frantically. He  _ had _ to find the piece of paper. He just knew it contained all the answers, and he needed to share this with John. He scoured the room, cursing his fuzzy memories of the conversation, as John watched interestedly from bed.

“Paul?”

“Yeah John just a minute I need to find this and tell you I had the most incredible thought last night and it explains  _ everything _ and you need to know-” Paul said in a rush as he sifted through the detritus of the previous night. “AHA! Found it!”

John observed as Paul’s face slowly fell. “ _ This _ is what I wrote?” He looked at John, despondent. “I had it all figured out…”

John, finally out of bed, took the paper from Paul’s slackened hands.

_ “There are seven levels.” _ John’s face broke into a huge grin.

Paul sighed. John’s laughter would be ringing in his ears for the rest of the day.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Beatles writing party with the prompt "drugs."


End file.
